Bond, Stephanie - Body Movers 05 (7 page)

Eight o’clock?”

“Okay.”

“Jack, wil you be there?”

“Couldn’t keep me away.”

“Good night.”

“You, too.”

6

Carlotta woke to a piercing noise. As she reached for her

cel phone to turn off the blaring alarm, her mind raced to

orient herself. Light poured in from a veranda—Peter’s

veranda. In a rush it all came back to her—coming home

with him and being ensconced in the lap of luxury,

sleeping like the dead imbedded in a mattress fit for

royalty, the ugliness of The Charmed Kil er far, far away.

She stabbed at her phone, but the frantic alarm didn’t

stop.

And then she realized the wail wasn’t the alarm on her

phone. It was the house security alarm.

Her heart vaulted to her throat. As she leaped out of bed,

she wondered if Peter had inadvertently tripped it as he’d

left for work. But the clock showed it was seven-thirty—

much later than he said he’d be leaving. She rushed to the

closed bedroom door and scanned the small security panel

on the wall above the light switch. A red light glowed next

to the words Motion Detector. Someone had set off the

device on the first floor—meaning they were inside the

house.

Carlotta’s throat convulsed in fear. If Peter was running

late and had accidentally set off the alarm, he would’ve

disarmed it by now. She turned the dead-bolt lock on the

door and backtracked to her cel phone, only to find the

battery dead.

The crashing noise of glass breaking sounded from the first

floor, confirming her fear that someone was in the house.

From the nightstand, a landline cordless phone rang,

startling her so badly she cried out, then she clamped a

hand over her mouth, realizing she’d just advertised her

whereabouts to the intruder. She scrambled to answer the

phone. “Hel o?”

“This is the security monitoring service,” a man said. “We

were alerted that your home alarm has been tripped.

What is your password?”

Carlotta frowned. “Password? I don’t know. I don’t live

here.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, I’m a guest in the house. I think there’s an

intruder—I heard something downstairs.”

“I’ll send the police,” he said, his voice ful of solemn

concern, “but I need to put you on hold and contact the

owner at an alternate number. What’s your name?”

“Carlotta Wren. When you call the local police, give them

my name and tel them to contact Detective Jack Terry of

the APD. This might have something to do with a case he’s

working on.” It was possible that Michael Lane could be

stalking her again. And there was a serial kil er on the

loose.

Assuming they weren’t the same person.

“Wil do, ma’am. Stay on the line.”

“Okay, please hurry.” She looked around the room for an

escape route. The veranda was on the second floor, so

unless she was wil ing to jump to the concrete driveway

below, it wasn’t an option. There was the back stairway

down the hallway, but that meant leaving the relative

safety of the bedroom.

She looked for a chair to wedge under the doorknob, but

the only ones in the room were two upholstered models

and a stool for the vanity, all too short. She set down the

phone and tried to slide the dresser in front of the door,

but the furniture wouldn’t budge.

Then she heard a sound outside the door on the landing, a

scuffing against the wood floor. Panic seized her. In the

distance she heard the wail of sirens, but they were stil far

away. The peal of the alarm ended abruptly, leaving a

whine of stunned silence in the air.

A thump sounded against the door.

“Go away!” Carlotta screamed. “The police are here!” But

she knew it would stil take precious minutes for them to

arrive, possibly break into the house, and find her.

Plenty of time for her to be strangled and have a charm

stuffed down her throat.

Carlotta retreated until her back slammed into a wall. She

considered fleeing to the closet or the bathroom, but that

would only take her farther from the last-ditch escape

route of the veranda if she had to jump or shimmy down a

tree in her skimpy pj’s.

“I have a gun,” she yel ed, then picked up a lamp and

wielded it like a baseball bat.

A scratching noise sounded against the door, sending

terror rippling through her.

Then Carlotta frowned. Scratching? She took a step

forward, then stopped. It was probably a ploy to draw her

closer. Then an ax would crash through the door and the

face of a maniac would appear.

She stood stock-stil , her heart thrashing in her chest as a

muted sound came from the other side of the door.

Carlotta crept forward and pressed her ear against the

wood.

Meow.

Carlotta’s shoulders fel in abject relief. If the maniac

“intruder” was deranged, it was on catnip. Peter’s cat

must’ve escaped from wherever he kept it and set off the

motion detector.

She set down the lamp and unlocked the dead bolt. When

she careful y opened the door, a yel ow streak of fur shot

through her legs and under the bed. Carlotta stuck her

head out in the hall for a quick scan, but the rest of the

house vibrated with stil ness. The whine of the police siren

grew closer. Turning back to the bedroom, Carlotta walked

over to pick up the phone. “False alarm,” she said to the

guy on the other end. “And the police are here. Thanks for

your help.”

She disconnected the call, then dropped to her knees to

lift the bed skirt and look for the cat. From a far corner,

two green eyes glowed back. The alarm had probably

scared it to death.

“Me, too,” she murmured to the cat in a soothing voice.

“Come on, I won’t hurt you.”

It released a shaky little meow. Carlotta sprawled on her

stomach and inched her way under the bed. “Come on,

kitty. It’s okay.”

The cat stretched out its neck and sniffed her fingers.

“That’s it, you’re safe with me,” Carlotta urged, sliding

closer.

Suddenly the cat bared its teeth and swiped at her. The

claws found their mark on her hand and Carlotta howled in

pain. She jerked up her head and banged it against the bed

railings, which made her howl again. She suddenly realized

the danger of being in a confined space with an hysterical

cat. Worse, when she tried to shimmy back out, she found

herself lodged between the floor and the bed.

Damn, being off work so long with a broken arm had

added a little padding to her backside. She tried to move,

then grunted. And to her front side, as wel .

The sound of voices came from downstairs. “Police! Is

anyone here?”

“I’m up here!” she called, but her voice was muffled. She

frantically tried to make her way back out from under the

bed and managed to retreat a few inches by the time

footsteps approached.

“Are you okay?” a male voice called, sounding hol ow.

“Yes,” she said cheerful y, wondering what kind of picture

she presented. “You can go now, it was a false alarm.”

Carlotta gasped when hands closed around her ankles. She

slid out in a whoosh, then flopped over on her back and

looked up.

Into Jack’s sardonic face.

“Hi,” she ventured with a little wave.

“Hi.” He gestured to her lime-green tap pants and

matching camisole. “I thought you were sleeping in

sweatpants and big fuzzy socks.”

“I lied.”

He reached down and helped her to her feet. “You okay?”

“Except for the floor burns.” She winced and touched the

lump on her head. “And I konked myself pretty good on

the bed railing.”

He retrieved her robe from a chair and handed it to her.

“Were you hiding from the intruder?”

“Not exactly.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he was struggling

for patience. “Is there another reason you were under the

bed?”

A meow sounded and the cat appeared, rubbing against

Jack’s pant leg.

“Meet the intruder,” Carlotta said, nodding to the blond

Persian. “She must’ve set off the motion detector.”

“There’s a broken wineglass on the kitchen floor.”

“She must’ve knocked it over. I didn’t even know Peter

had a cat.”

“Figures, though,” Jack muttered.

“It probably belonged to Angela,” she chided, then

crouched down and offered the fluffy feline her hand to

sniff. The cat hissed and swiped, drawing blood this time.

“Ouch!” Carlotta yelped, pul ing back.

“She must prefer males,” Jack offered. Then he stepped

back into the hallway and called, “False alarm, guys.

Thanks for your help.”

He came back in the room and crossed his arms, looking

her up and down. “You gave me quite a scare.”

“Sorry. I guess I overreacted.”

“Don’t worry about it. This is the reason I’m okay with you

being here—Ashford’s house is even pussy-proof. Now I

can relax.”

She gave him a withering look. The cordless phone rang

and she hurried to pick it up. “Hel o?”

“Carlotta,” Peter said, his voice high and agitated. “Are you

okay?”

“I’m fine, Peter. It was a false alarm.”

“The security monitoring system called me at work. I’m on

my way home.”

“I’m sorry for the commotion,” she said, “but you don’t

have to come home. Jack’s here.”

“Jack?”

“He came with the police who responded to the alarm.”

“Oh. Did you accidentally set it off?”

“No, your cat did.”

“My cat?”

“Yes.” Carlotta rubbed her finger over the angry raised

scratches on her hand. “And she’s a little mean.”

“Carly, I don’t have a cat.”

She frowned and her gaze went to the feline twisting

happily between Jack’s legs. “Are you sure? She’s fluffy

and blond—a Persian, I think, with green eyes.”

He laughed. “I’m positive I don’t have a cat. It must belong

to a neighbor and slipped into the house when one of us

wasn’t looking.”

“That’s strange,” she murmured.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he said. “Are you sure I don’t

need to come home?”

“No, everything’s fine. And I have to leave soon. The GBI

wants to talk to me about The Charmed Kil er case, so I

thought I’d get that over with before going to work.”

“Wel , I have to admit that I’m glad the GBI is taking over

the investigation. Jack and his people don’t seem to be

making much headway.”

She lifted her gaze to Jack and he frowned, as if he sensed

Peter was talking about him. “I should get going,” she said.

“Thanks for checking on me, Peter.”

“I left you the Porsche,” Peter said, sounding…husbandly.

“That’s very generous. I’l see you later?”

“Can’t wait. Have a good day.”

“You, too,” she murmured, conscious that Jack was

listening. She punched a button to end the phone cal ,

then shrugged. “Peter says it’s not his cat. It must belong

to a neighbor and got into the house somehow.”

Jack made a noise in his throat. “I’l check the doors and

windows and search the house just to be sure no one else

came in.”

She nodded, thinking of Michael.

“Want me to put the cat outside?”

“I suppose so. Her owner is probably looking for her. Or

maybe she’l find her way back home.”

Jack scooped up the cat, who purred and rubbed its head

on his lapel. “I’l look around and wait for you downstairs.

Do you need a ride to the station for the interview we

discussed?”

She pressed her lips together. “Uh, no. I have

transportation.”

“Did you get the Miata fixed?”

“No.”

“A new car?”

“Uh, no. Peter loaned me one of his.”

Jack’s eyebrows went up.

She squirmed. “It’s practical, at least while I’m staying

here.”

“I have to hand it to Ashford. He’s giving you a taste of the

good life.”

Carlotta lifted her chin. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Not a thing,” Jack said lightly. “Maybe I underestimated

him.”

“Peter is accustomed to getting what he wants, and he

doesn’t have to throw muscle around to get it.”

“Muscle? What muscle?” Jack casually flexed his own

bulging biceps.

“Real mature, Jack. I’m going to take a shower.”

He grinned. “Want some company?”

“No,” she said, pushing him out into the hallway and

closing the door behind him. Yet, as she showered in the

luxurious bathroom, she thought back to when she and

Jack had shared a showerhead only a few days before—

right after her car had exploded. The incident had shaken

them both and they agreed that due to mounting

complications, it would be the last time they would give in

to temptation.

Yet they seemed addicted to each other.

She showered and dressed hurriedly, pul ing her stil -damp

long dark hair into a ponytail. When she descended to the

first floor, she found Jack standing next to the sliding glass

door. His back was to her, and he was on his cel phone.

“Yes, sir, I do understand what’s on the line, sir…yes, sir, I